Old Eyes
by aquabeth424
Summary: Quirrel travels through Hallownest haunted by ghost memories and drowning in his own mind. A strange child seems to rescue him each time. T for canon typical violence.
1. Temple of the Black Egg

His first steps into the small, dying town thumped softly against the dirt. There was a gloom over this place that he could not quite name, and an old, hunched over bug that seemed lost, staring passed an empty bench and over the empty town. Disturbing him seemed almost rude, but Quirrel needed information.

"Hello, kind sir."

"Oh," The elderly bug stood straighter, the promise of company, even for just a minute, renewing some hope. "Not many people stop to say hello. I'd ask what brings you here, but I'm no fool."

"Ah," There wasn't much to be said. Who could linger in such a place when mystery called just below its surface? Quirrel made polite conversation for a few minutes, before inquiring about the entrance and whatever information the Elderbug had.

"Many travel through Hallownest, but not too many bugs return. Lost in dream or decaying, most likely."

"Perhaps I will surprise you again then, sir." The Elderbug merely smiled sadly, but after Quirrel left, he could not help but wonder if he had already met the bug before. He had appeared young and agile, but there was an age over him that Elderbug knew far too well: he had seen more, lived more, endured more than most. Perhaps the odd bug would live to return.

Quirrel didn't have such high hopes. Every footfall echoed in the vast, dark halls. The fall from the well hadn't been too bad, but what met him down in that dark was hard to describe. Faces of bugs glowed with a sickly light, bodies' dead but eyes alight with a vigor that wasn't their own. He used his nail without mercy, for this place would show him none.

The first stop was simple. Anyone who had heard of Hallownest knew of the temple near the surface, or at least what all assumed was a temple. There was much lost to time, but the looming black egg gave off an air of both peace and nervousness, hope and terror. If not a shrine to a lost religion, what else could the place be? Three mask outlines were etched into the egg, but one in particular caught his eye.

Quirrel wasn't sure how long he stared into it, letting a strange familiarity wash over him. Sadness and fondness swirled in his mind until he felt dizzy. His hand reached up, as if to caress the familiar weight upon his head. As his hand slid over it, movement in his peripherals caused him pause.

It looked like a child. He wasn't sure when it had appeared there, how long it had stood at his side before looking straight up, but Quirrel knew he couldn't let his guard down like that. He might be near the surface still, but dangers were everywhere and death would be swift for those that forgot awareness. Death, or dreams. The creature seemed strong, but there was something unsettling about it. No matter, he thought. Seeing as the child hadn't tried to harm him, he would extend it the same companionship he had offered the Elderbug.

"Hello there! How delightful to meet another traveler on these forgotten roads…" No matter what he said, he got the same empty yet piercing gaze back. Normally, if you looked long and hard enough, you could see a bug's face passed the mask. Perhaps it was just the lighting, but the darkness within the creature seemed all consuming. Was it even a bug? Who knew what other things could lurk in the dark.

No matter how wary he tried to be, no matter how unnerving his new friend was, he had a faint glimmer of hope looking at the young thing. If it was a bug, it was a small one or a child, but it didn't stop him from having the illogical feeling that everything could be righted as long as the little one survived. It was a stark contrast to the helplessness he was beginning to feel standing in the temple.

"Hmm…" When he looked own again, his friend was gone. He too should carry on then. There was, after all, plenty to explore.


	2. Lake of Unn

Shink, shink, shink, tiiinnnggg. The stone rolled across his blade with practiced ease, and he held the nail up to the glow outside, inspecting it's blade. Not yet satisfied, he returned to his work. If he listened beyond the walls, he could hear the acid purr from the lake. It bubbled and popped in unique tones, swallowing up whatever dared enter it.

There had been a tall bug looming over the edge of the lake, unmoving. Quirrel had edged around the building, evading it's notice and entering unscathed. Moments of peace and respite were precious, and he took up sharpening his sword. Considering he heard nothing but the acidic melody, the tall bug was probably still there.

He mused to the rhythm of his hands, the verse of his sword.

Shink, there was something about this city.

Shink, there was so much he felt like he knew.

Shink, and that knowledge sprung from seemingly nowhere.

Tiiinnnggg, if he looked long enough, he could see familiar ghosts haunting the halls, something sleeping in the lake…

It wasn't long before a familiar ghost stood before him, but this one was real. _Perhaps he is less so than the ghosts I see more often_. But that thinking would get him killed. He seemed to be lost in a past he couldn't quite remember, when the present was the issue. The child before him meant him no harm, at least not yet.

"Oh, hello there! Seems we both tread far from the path. I can hardly believe those dusty old highways led to such a lush and lively place!" It had seemed normal at the time, the transition, yet in retrospect it was indeed quite odd. As always, his friend seemed to give no response, only looking forward with empty, blackened sockets.

"This building suggests some form of worship," Did it? Where did he learn this, when did he realize? "though its idol has clearly been long forgotten. Doubles equally well for a moment's respite."

He thought he would go mad, trying to piece his brain together with the new sections bombarding it, but the odd child took refuge with him, sitting comfortably on the bench across from Quirrel. He calmed his mind, and decided he could ponder the oddities later. If he knew more, then perhaps he was simply lucky. Knowledge was a power he knew how to use well.

"I saw a strange fellow out there. He seemed quite taken by the lake. I'd planned to offer greetings, though figured I'd first tend to my nail on chance our meeting goes poorly." His friend watched intently as he continued his careful maintenance on the nail, and that's when Quirrel noticed that the child's weapon had not changed. There were surely better ones among the dead, as he had told him earlier, though obviously there was an attachment to that nail. He couldn't blame him, for Quirrel himself had not changed weapons either.

"Your nail looks a fine instrument, but it's showing signs of wear. I'd wager up there it would take you far. Down here however, I suspect you'll soon meet dangers the surface world can't match. Hallownest is perfect for vigilant explorers like us. So tense and thrilling. In this place, you're either alert or you're dead."

The next time he looked up, the shadow was gone.


	3. Queen's Station

**AN: Sorry, a short chapter after a long time, but hopefully this will be updated a bit more regularly :)**

He could hear the phantom voices, an ever-present hum amidst the eerie stillness of dust and deep shadows. It had taken some careful maneuvering to get where he was, the vivid glow of a completely different world of constant noise and electricity juxtaposed with the beautiful sight before him. A stag station of considerable size, with many halls leading to the labyrinth of tunnels. It was in ruins now, of course. The structure had begun to crumble in some places, and he wondered how many of the tunnels had collapsed from neglect, or if the stags even still wandered them.

If he listened closely enough, he could hear the bells ringing. _Even those great stags bowed to Hallownest's King. What devotion he must have inspired._

He didn't need to look up to feel the shadow behind him. Somehow Quirrel always managed to be ahead of the small bug.

As usual, his shadow didn't speak. It just stared up at him, soaking in every word. In the better lighting, he could see the same nail, but it seemed his young friend had picked up a different cloak somewhere along the way.

"Isn't this something. I'd not expected to discover so huge a Stag Station after that foggy descent. The bugs of Hallownest must've been an impressive lot, building such grand structures so far into these wilds." Unfortunately, few would ever be able to see its glory. It wasn't the worst he's fought through, but the journey wasn't easy, and was sure to only get harder.

Quirrel watched as his friend walked to the edge and looked at the structure before him.

"That's a special thing I suppose, to cherish these sights, even in their decay." There was no visible reaction, and perhaps it was foolish, but he had a distinct feeling that the child agreed with him. _If only he'd give me his name._

"Is it that, just faintly, you can still hear the echo of the bells?" _Do you hear them too, ringing forever in these ancient chambers?_

Quirrel reached out for him, but his friend was already gone, leaping down into the station. Perhaps it was time for him to explore as well. Something about the foggy place just above had left him unnerved, the crackling still biting at his shell. Maybe there was peace to be found deeper still.

An odd bug had greeted him in one of the closer tunnels, still chewing on some plant growing out of the ceiling. He tried to make conversation, but it seemed she was much more interested in eating. Fine by him, Quirrel supposed. The signs of the stag stations were battered and worn, some laying in the dirt and dust at his feet. Most of the tunnel entrances were caved in, as he expected, but one seemed to be intact.

Satisfied with his observations, Quirrel had leapt back up towards his original post, only to hear once more the ringing of a bell, more pronounced this time. Real, even.

The heavy gait of a stag haunted him as he left.


End file.
